Then the Rain Comes
by musicprincess1990
Summary: Written for nomadicsoul5's "Kiss in the Rain" Challenge. Hermione was perfectly content with her quiet, humdrum existence... and then HE came along. Loosely based on Pride and Prejudice. AU, H/Hr and D/G. Rating upped because I'm paranoid.
1. Insults and Witticisms

A/N: So, I normally don't even bother with challenges like this, since it's all I can do to finish the stories I've thought up on my own, but something about this particular challenge intrigued me—which probably has everything to do with the fact that it said "kiss in the rain" and "Jane Austen." Two of my favorite things! So I'm going to attempt it, see what happens, and with a little bit of luck—and a _LOT_ of feedback!—I might actually finish it! Fingers crossed!

So, As it says in the summary, this story is AU. Voldemort does not exist. Hermione and Harry have never met. Sirius is alive and well. Ron and Harry haven't met, either. Draco, isn't an insufferable prat (anymore). Ron is _shy _(!). Harry is actually _older_ than Hermione. And Ginny is the same age as both Draco and Hermione.

Disclaimer: I don't have anything clever to say. I own nothing.

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><p>It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman of a certain age and means <em>must<em> be in want of a husband, just as a single man of similar age and equal or greater means _must_ be in want of a wife.

Translation, _everybody_ knows that every person, age twenty-one and above, with at least some amount of money, is just _dying_ to get married.

Every person, that is, except Hermione Granger.

At just barely twenty-one, she was perfectly happy being single, and had no plans to change that. Not yet, at least. She was the best fact-checker at the _Daily __Prophet_, with a promise to become a reporter if she played her cards right, and had a quiet, but pleasant, social life. She only had a few close friends, which was okay with her.

The closest of these, Draco Malfoy, was a surprise to everyone—including the two of them. They'd been bitter rivals for most of their time at Hogwarts, competing for the top grades (Hermione won), and the higher level of wit (Hermione won again). And when they were chosen as Head Boy and Girl, every student and staff member was afraid their beloved school would implode. However, within a few weeks, the two were laughing in their "wit-offs," and helping each other with homework and classes they struggled with. In the end, Hermione achieved the highest marks (Draco still struggled with Transfiguration), and they were best friends.

Ginny Weasley was the sister Hermione never had. From their first year at Hogwarts, they were incredibly close. As they grew older, though, they discovered differences in personality that clashed. Not enough to destroy their bond, but to stretch it. Ginny was extremely girly, with an addiction to shopping and boys. Hermione's love for books and sarcasm never faded. They had less to talk about, but still enjoyed one another's company.

Ron, Ginny's older brother, was her polar opposite. He was shy, and had never had a girlfriend, but he was incredibly sweet, and a good listener. Hermione didn't know a lot about him, since he didn't say much, but he wasn't rude, so she liked him fine.

The three friends often attended Ministry parties together, and would spend most of the night standing in a clump talking, rather than dancing. This changed, however, on the night of Ginny's twenty-first birthday. It coincided with the last night of the summer holidays, and the Ministry threw a sort of ball on this occasion every year. It was gaudy and pretentious, but as an upstanding member of the prominent Malfoy family, Draco was obligated to go, and his friends were always there to help him through the tediousness.

Within minutes, however, it became clear that this party would not be the same. It took Ginny all of two minutes to start coping out the beaus, and dancing with half the male population between the ages of eighteen and thirty-two.

"Wow," Hermione muttered as the redhead flounced away. "That didn't take long."

Draco chuckled softly. "She's a free spirit. She cannot be contained."

"Clearly." She turned to smile. "Guess it'll just be you and me tonight."

"Guess so," Draco grinned.

She sighed dramatically. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

With a smirk, Draco suggested, "We could set fire to the Minister's robes."

"Or his dog."

"Or his dog's robes."

"Or _both!_"

"Suppose we douse the lights, shine one on the far wall, and perform a dirty hand-puppet show for everyone."

"They'd be bowing at our feet!"

"Kissing the ground we walk on!"

Hermione laughed as their witty banter came to a close. It was a familiar pattern, and she knew Draco was grateful for it. These parties weren't really his thing.

"Or we could dance," he said suddenly.

She looked at him in surprise. "But you hate dancing!"

He shrugged. "Yes, but maybe that's only because the only people I've ever danced with are my mother, the Minister's wife, and that horrid old hag from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Never have I danced with a lovely young woman, of whom I have already formed a good opinion."

"Well, when you put it that way," she teased, but accepted his hand, and they went onto the dance floor. Draco twirled and spun her, causing them both to laugh. They knew they were causing quite a stir, but neither managed to care.

In the middle of one of Draco's spins, Hermione caught sight of two gentleman who had just arrived. The first was a bit older, probably in his forties or early fifties. His hair was long and curly, hanging around a bearded face. His eyes, though shadowed by that hair, seemed kind and smiling. It was the second man, though, that really captured her attention. He was tall. _Very_ tall, and unnervingly handsome, with thick, somewhat unkempt black hair, a pair of stately, rectangular glasses, and a deep scowl. Hermione had been to four of these Ministry balls—one a year since she and Draco had finished Hogwarts—but she was certain she had never seen this man in her life, which made her curious.

"Who's that?" she asked Draco, gesturing with her head. "That man over there?"

"That's Harry Potter," he told her, "son of noted ex-Aurors James and Lily Potter. I'm told they were the best Aurors the Ministry has seen in the last fifty years, but they were killed during a mission gone wrong a few years ago."

She frowned. "Did he go to Hogwarts?"

"No, he went to Durmstrang, I believe. I'm not entirely sure why he's here," he mused quietly. "From what I've heard, he's been invited to countless events, but he's turned them all down. Wonder why he chose this one."

"And who's the man with him?"

"His godfather, Sirius Black. He had some trouble with the law back in his day, but he's since been found innocent and was given a full pardon."

"What was his supposed crime?"

"Aiding a dark wizard. Don't remember the name, but he spent a year in Azkaban for it. Endured it remarkably well, I must say. Most people go mad within _months_."

"Impressive," Hermione noted.

Draco turned to her. "Why so curious?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I've never seen either of them before."

"Hmm," he narrowed his eyes, but said nothing else.

"Draco, my boy!" a man said suddenly as he approached them. Hermione recognized him; Horace Slughorn, their Potions teacher from the last two years of school. Draco looked at her, his eyes silently pleading for her to save him. But she knew, and she was sure _he_ knew, that it was a lost cause. Slughorn had always liked Draco, and he'd be damned if he didn't get a long, pointless conversation with him.

"I think I'll go see where Ginny's gone off to," Hermione announced, smirking at the distraught expression on Draco's face.

She left the dance floor, strolling around the perimeter. It didn't take long to find Ginny, what with her striking red hair and bouncy personality. She was currently in the midst of a large group of men, all facing her and listening with rapt attention as she told what Hermione guessed was one of her less-than-funny goblin jokes. She had no end of them. Hermione shook her head and continued walking, still watching her red-haired best friend. Unknowingly, she came to the place where the elusive Mr. Potter and his godfather stood. As she approached, and saw them, she stopped in her tracks, hurrying to hide herself. Her curiosity might be her biggest downfall, but it was too great a temptation to ignore. What could these men have to say?

"...standing around looking like an utter fool," she caught the end of Sirius Black's sentence. His voice was a bit gruff and coarse, but there was something kind about it, something that hinted at an amiable nature, and there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. She liked him already.

"You're wasting your breath," the younger man said in a deep, resonant bass. "You know I hate dancing. I'm not going to lead any of these silly, pathological flirts on to believe that I have even the remotest interest in them, when I definitely do _not_."

_Well_, Hermione thought dryly, _sounds __like __someone__'__s __shoved __a __broomstick __where __it __doesn__'__t __belong_.

Sirius laughed heartily. "Just you wait, my boy," he said. "One of these days, you're actually find someone you like at one of these parties, and she's not going to give you the time of day. Then you'll wish you'd been a bit kinder."

"I highly doubt it, but keep telling yourself that, if it gives you comfort."

_Stuck-up __arse_, Hermione insulted him mentally, though she couldn't help but laugh at his insolence. She didn't catch the last thing Sirius said before he strolled away, and out of her line of sight. Amazed by Harry Potter's arrogance, she moved to walk away. In the process, she collided with someone, nearly sending them both to the floor, but the person caught her with lightning-fast reflexes, pulling her back into a standing position. She looked upward, prepared to thank the person, but stopped when she saw who it was.

Harry Potter. The very person she had just inwardly insulted while laughing at the conversation she'd just eavesdropped.

And he was staring at her, with the second expression she'd seen on his face: a mix of surprise, confusion, and anger. She felt a momentary flare of indignation—what, was he furious with her for deigning to invade his personal space and contaminate him with her "girl cooties" or something? But she squashed those feelings down, and remembered propriety.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"You should be more careful," he scolded, rather than accepting her thanks. "People might think you're attempting to initiate some sort of contact."

_Seriously?_ Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but she refrained. Instead, she gave a pleasant smile. "Yes, I really _should_ be more careful. I should be careful where I walk and who I run into. Someone might blatantly insult me and accuse me of things he knows nothing about."

His expression instantly became enraged. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, there's no need to beg," she smirked. "I can't hold anything against you; I don't know you. But _I_ must beg _your_ pardon for appearing like a silly, pathological flirt," she repeated his words. His face got redder and redder, and she just laughed. "Enjoy the party," she waved, and walked away.

Still giggling to herself, she found Draco, still talking to Slughorn. She looped her arm through his, and smiled at her ex-professor. "Pardon me, sir, but I must steal Draco away for a moment. I have something to discuss with him."

"Oh, Miss Granger!" the older man smiled—though not as widely as Draco. "Yes, of course! Silly me, I've practically been holding him hostage the whole evening!"

Hermione could see Draco struggling to hold back whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue; smiling graciously, she said goodbye to Slughorn, and the two of them strolled away. "You saved me!" he whispered.

"You looked a little cornered," she grinned. "Plus, I really do want to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?"

Still smiling, she glanced toward the place where she'd left Harry Potter, to find he was still standing there. Staring at her. Still looking furious.

Draco noticed. "What did you do to him?"

Hermione smirked. "It's actually a funny story..."

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><p>AN: I'm actually really excited about this story now! :D I can already tell it's going to be SO much fun to write! Tell me what you think!


	2. Halloween

**Harry POV**

Fury. Detestation. Incredulity. More fury.

These were only some of the emotions Harry was experiencing as he flooed back to his home in Derbyshire. Sirius was quick to follow, still chuckling.

"I knew you'd find a bird you liked," he said through his laughter, "I just didn't think it'd be _this_ fast! HA!"

Harry scowled. "I never said I liked her," he insisted. "I just said she was different from other girls. She was insulting, provocative, and disrespectful."

"I like her already," Sirius winked.

"And she _dared_ to use my own words against me!"

Sirius laughed harder. "You have to admit, you were being a prat. Assuming that she was trying to flirt with you? You're my godson, Harry, and I love you, but the whole world does not revolve around you."

"I know that!" he snapped. "I don't expect or want it to!"

"Don't you?"

There were times when Harry really hated his godfather. "I'm going to bed," he said irritably. "Call me when you're finished shoving your morals down my throat."

Without waiting for a response, Harry apparated up to his bedroom. It wasn't really necessary, and normally, he would rather take the stairs, but at the moment, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts of a pretty, brown-eyed girl with a smart mouth.

He'd never admit it to Sirius—or anyone, for that matter—but he was right. This girl intrigued him. He was angry, to be sure; no one had ever dared speak to him the way she had, let alone eavesdrop on a conversation, _and_ make it known that she had done just that. But, despite his indignation, there was something about those eyes... those deep, dark eyes, so full of life, mirth, and a hint of mischief. From the moment he saw those eyes, he was entranced, enslaved, and enshrouded in an inescapable cloud of fascination and attraction.

With these thoughts, his anger mounted. Who was this girl, that she could tempt him so, and stir his mind to go against everything he'd ever believed? What spell had she put him under, and had she done so knowingly? He resolved to avoid parties such as these as much as he could. He'd promised the Minister to attend the next three balls of the year—Halloween, Christmas, and New Year's—against his will, by the way—but that didn't mean she would be at every single one. And if she was, he'd duck.

And the Malfoy boy would divert her attention.

An inexplicable rage surfaced and spread through Harry's entire being. He didn't even know him, but he wanted to hate him, simply because of the way she'd smiled at him. A secret little smirk, as if she had a juicy secret to tell him. And then she'd looked his way, and he was certain it was about him. She was _laughing_ at him. _With _Malfoy. Somehow, that made him even more furious.

This girl would be the death of him.

"No," Harry said aloud, clenching his fists. "I won't let her. I _won't_."

With this resolve, he was finally able to sleep.

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><p><strong>Hermione POV<strong>

"I can't believe he said that!" Ginny gasped, though she smiled. Hermione was relaying her experience with Harry Potter. They were sitting in the kitchen at her home, the Burrow. "What did _you_ say?"

Hermione grinned. "I said, 'Yes, I really _should_ be more careful. I should be careful where I walk and who I run into. Someone might blatantly insult me and accuse me of things he knows nothing about.'" Ginny laughed heartily, and she went on. "And he said, 'I beg your pardon?'" she imitated him, dropping her voice and adding an angry edge to it. "So I said, 'Oh, there's no need to beg, but _I_ must beg _your_ pardon for appearing like a silly, pathological flirt!'"

Ginny was in stitches, nearly falling off her chair. "Oh, Hermione!" she panted as she regained some control, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "This is why I love you!"

"Yes, well, I am quite lovable," Hermione quipped.

"Did he say anything else?"

She shook her head. "I walked away before he had the chance."

"Well, serves him right. The _nerve_ of him!"

Hermione just chuckled. "Yes, well, that's the way of the rich. They think they can say or do anything, with little or no consequence, and without anyone telling them they're wrong. So far, I've only found one exception to that rule."

"Draco," Ginny nodded. "Yes, he's one of the few good ones. Although his parents are coming around, as well."

"Indeed," Hermione smiled. "I can now carry out a full conversation with both of them without being called a Mudblood once, and I even earned a smile from his mother. Lucius is a bit more obstinate, but I'll wear him down eventually."

Ginny eyed her friend suspiciously. "You talk about the Malfoys as if they're your in-laws. Something you need to tell me?"

She felt her face grow warm. "Good heavens, no! Draco's my best friend! I don't feel that way about him. Besides, I fear it would ruin our friendship."

"You never know," the redhead shrugged.

"Well, even so, I see him as my best friend, and nothing more."

Ginny nodded, suddenly very quiet. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, intent on asking her why she was being so uncharacteristically taciturn, but at that moment, Ron stepped into the room.

"Oh," he mumbled, his face turning slightly pink. "Hi."

Hermione smiled kindly. "Hello, Ron. How are you?"

"Fine," he replied, then turned to look at Ginny. "Where's Mum?"

"She and Dad went for a walk or something. They'll be back later this afternoon. Oh, and they want to have family dinner on Sunday."

"Okay," was all he said, before he disapparated.

Hermione sighed. "All these years, and he still barely says a word to me. Why?"

"He barely says a word to _anyone_ outside the family," she said. "I swear, there are times you would need a thought bubble over his head just to be able to tell what he's thinking. So weird," she added, shaking her head.

"Yes, I know. But for heaven's sake, I'm over here several times a week! I always say hi, I'll chat with you and your parents for hours... you'd think he'd be used to me by now!"

Ginny patted her arm comfortingly. "He'll get there eventually. He's very stubborn, my brother. It's about the only thing we have in common, other than the hair."

Hermione smiled gratefully. She knew Ron had to warm up to her at some point. She just hated the awkward silences between them. Silence was not one of Hermione's favorite things. Even when she studied, she had to have some sort of noise in the background—music, a fan, raindrops on the window or roof—or she would go utterly insane. Draco often teased her for that. Ginny never studied, so she didn't exactly have any reason to make fun of her strange habit.

"So," Ginny's voice brought her back to the present, "let's talk Halloween."

She laughed. "Ginny, Halloween is still _months_ away!"

"It's never too early to start planning ahead, Hermione," she smiled. "Now, I was thinking either Roman, or a modern-day Cinderella..."

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><p><em>Halloween<em>

It was yet another ball at the Ministry. Hermione, Draco, and Ginny entered the room, each fully costumed. Ginny's teal, floor-length toga was elegant, and perfect for her. Draco and Hermione decided to match their costumes, mostly due to the fact that Draco had absolutely _no _idea what to be. Hermione, who had determined her costume early, along with Ginny, had the perfect idea. They were going as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Bennett from _Pride and Prejudice_. That took some coercion, too, but as Hermione happened to have the costume handy...

They were instantly greeted by several Ministry officials and guests. The amount of people here was significantly lower than the previous ball, as the professors were now back at Hogwarts. Even so, these parties still drew quite a crow, and Hermione could see Draco's weariness increasing already.

"I'll see you later," Ginny whispered, her eyes excited.

Hermione frowned. "Where are you going?"

Ginny pointed toward a young man, who promptly waved. "See him? That's Cutler Reeves. He's the Assistant Head of the Auror Department."

"'Cutler'?" Hermione teased.

"He's handsome," Ginny ignored her. "And _rich_."

"Ginny, don't marry him for his money."

She gasped in mock offense. "Oh, come on, Hermione! You should know me better than that! I want to marry for love... but there's nothing wrong with making sure I fall for a man with cash in the bank." She winked, then disappeared.

"Oh, Draco, there you are!"

They both turned to see Narcissa gliding toward them. Hermione wasn't sure what she was supposed to be, but she looked an awful lot like Morticia Addams (not that Narcissa actually knew who that was, but that was who she looked like). Narcissa and Lucius had come earlier, for some sort of special dinner just for the higher Ministry officials and governors, so Draco had come with Hermione and Ginny.

"What is it, Mum?" he asked.

She gestured with her hand, starting to move backward. "Come," she said. "There's someone you need to meet!"

Draco glanced at Hermione, and she nodded. The first time she came with him to one of these balls, there was a mutual, unspoken agreement between them that, every time either of his parents said "there's someone you should meet," she would accompany him, giving him a sort of buffer, in case things got awkward. If needed, she'd give him an excuse to leave. It was a very effective system.

They followed Narcissa toward two gentlemen. Hermione thought the scruffy, curly mop of hair on one of them looked familiar...

As they turned around, Hermione had to stifle a snicker. Standing before her and Draco were none other than Harry Potter and Sirius Black. And as Harry recognized her, his eyes grew impossibly wide, and his mouth fell open.

This could only bring laughs.

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><p>AN: I couldn't resist putting in the P&P costumes. ;) What do you think so far? I'm loving this! So fun to write! Next chappie coming soon!


	3. Forming Opinions

A/N: Not sure about the chapter title. I'll probably change it. But until then, enjoy!

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><p><span>Last Chapter:<span>

_They followed Narcissa toward two gentlemen. Hermione thought the scruffy, curly mop of hair on one of them looked familiar..._

_As they turned around, Hermione had to stifle a snicker. Standing before her and Draco were none other than Harry Potter and Sirius Black. And as Harry recognized her, his eyes grew impossibly wide, and his mouth fell open._

_This could only bring laughs._

* * *

><p>"Draco, this is Harry Potter, and his godfather Sirius Black," she smiled, gesturing to the two men respectively, then she looked at them, while putting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "This is my son, Draco Malfoy, and his friend, Hermione Granger."<p>

"A pleasure," Sirius stepped forward, smiling that twinkly-eyed smile of his, and shaking Draco's and Hermione's hands vigorously. He stopped at Hermione. "You're a reporter, aren't you?"

She blushed a bit. "Aspiring reporter, actually. How did you know?"

"You've got the handshake. Firm." He grinned. "I like it. Very pleased to meet you, Miss Granger."

"You as well, Mr. Black," she said politely. She felt Draco subtly nudge her in the ribs with his elbow, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was smiling, specifically his "I'm so proud to have you as a friend" smile. She grinned back, and then they both looked back at their newly formed acquaintances.

It was then that Hermione noted Harry's costume. It was nearly identical to Draco's, the only major difference being the color of his coat. And with his dark hair and tall stature and Frankenstein scowl, she knew he must be impersonating Mr. Darcy. She very nearly laughed aloud at this; in accordance with their costumes, they should be a couple. _HA!_ As if she would even consider it!

"How do you like London?" Draco asked them.

"Wonderful," Sirius replied. "It's like taking a walk down Memory Lane. I grew up in London, actually, on Grimmauld Place."

Hermione smiled. "You must feel right at home, then," she said.

He chuckled. "Well, in some ways, yes. I did enjoy some aspects of my childhood, but most of those were spent out in the city, or in Godric's Hollow with Harry's dad, James. My family life was... interesting."

"Well, I must say, I'm impressed you manage such a cheery disposition," Hermione commented. "I doubt I would be so temperate in your shoes." _Especially having done time in Azkaban_, she finished mentally, though she would never say it aloud.

Sirius shrugged. "It wasn't wholly bad. Life is what you make it, and I determined early on that I wanted my life to be good."

"I admire your approach, sir," Draco said. "I feel much the same, though admittedly, I wasn't always so easy-going. Hermione here can attest to that," he added.

"You were a right prat up till seventh year," she smirked.

He bowed his head, but still smiled. "Guilty as charged. I dedicated much of my time to making my fellow students' lives a living hell, especially Hermione's."

"And you _almost_ succeeded—"

"Until a would-be duel," he cut in, "where, instead of unleashing a firebird on you, as I had intended, a stream of chubby little sparrows came bursting from my wand—"

"And they promptly fell to the ground with plaintive little _cheeps_, before disappearing in a puff of feathers," she finished, giggling.

"We laughed until we cried, and a friendship was born."

"I was just laughing at your truly pathetic spellwork," she teased him. "I mean, really? Chubby sparrows? Pitiful."

Sirius was laughing at our exchange. "You two certainly make a great couple."

The two friends turned to him in surprise. "Oh, we're not a couple," Hermione said insistently. "Just very good friends."

Draco gave an unattractive snort. "Merlin, could you imagine? We'd spend more time trying to outdo one another than feeding the actual relationship!"

"A battle of wits every day," she agreed.

"A joke-joust, if you will," he added.

Hermione shook her head with a light laugh, then turned to Sirius. "In other words, we're not a couple."

Did she imagine it, or was there a slight smile on Harry's face? He was probably just inwardly mocking their exchange. He wouldn't be the first, but he might be the first to do so with contempt. Hermione highly doubted he found genuine humor in... well, anything. Harry Potter? _Laugh?_ The indignity!

"I apologize for the misunderstanding," Sirius said. "You just seem so comfortable with one another, I just assumed."

"You're not the first," Draco shrugged. "And I'm sure you won't be the last."

Hermione spotted someone coming over. "Speaking of which, Draco, it's time for some evasive maneuver. Two o'clock, Madame Geraldine from the French Ministry, coming this way."

He grimaced briefly, but then put on a charming smile. "Why, Miss Granger," he said in a honey-like drawl, "would you care to join me for a dance?"

With a curtsy, she took his hand. "I'd be delighted, Mr. Malfoy!" she replied, and they walked onto the dance floor.

**Harry POV**

"Charming pair," Sirius commented, as they watched the two friends depart from their company. "Pity they don't see that. They'd make a handsome couple."

Harry scowled at his godfather. "Handsome? Compared to what? Between his pointy nose and chin and her wild hair... under whose definition would they be deemed 'a handsome couple'?"

Sirius watched him for a moment, then he gave a laugh. "By Merlin! It's _her!_"

"What's her?"

"That's the girl you were talking about! The one who put you in your place!"

"She did _not_—"

"She made a proper idiot of you, and you know it," Sirius chuckled. "Ah, that makes sense now. No wonder you're so against them being a couple."

Harry bristled. "They're free to do as they wish! Why should I care?"

"I'd like to know that myself."

Growling in his throat, Harry distanced himself from his odious godfather. The nerve of him sometimes! The nerve of _her!_ What was she doing here? Why did she insist on coming to these parties? Now he'd learned she was a reporter—and therefore not part of the elite—he had to wonder if she was crashing. Then again, perhaps she was invited by the Malfoys. Could they do that? Of course they could! They were one of the oldest and most powerful families in the wizarding world! They could invite whomever they wanted, no matter how simple or common she may be.

Or was she?

As if they'd heard his question, a pair of young women started chatting about her.

"Who's that girl dancing with young Malfoy?"

"Hermione Granger, his closest friend. She's a reporter—and a Muggle-born."

"My, my, my. Those Malfoys keep getting more and more lenient. Next thing you know, they'll be married!"

"What is the world coming to?"

He'd heard enough. Harry stepped out of the main ballroom, taking deep breaths to digest this new information. He'd suspected that she was, at least, a half-blood. But Muggle-born? His parents had never practiced nor encouraged blood supremacy, but it was kind of assumed that people of his status and means were not to associate with... certain people. And certain people included Muggle-borns.

Then it was settled. He would leave her alone.

So why was he still finding it difficult to take his eyes off her?

As the song drew to a close, Hermione and Malfoy bowed to one another, both with a smirk on their faces. Harry was having a hard time convincing himself that there was nothing more than friendship between them. Not that he thought they had a secret relationship or anything, but he couldn't help but wonder if their feelings weren't as platonic as they tried to make everyone believe.

He was driving himself insane.

Someone went up to Draco then, and Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile before turning and walking. Harry followed her with his eyes, watching as she exited the room, going out onto the terrace. Against his will, his legs began to move, and he soon found himself following her outside, always watching her.

**Hermione POV**

The crisp, cool autumn air bit at Hermione's nose and ears, but she didn't care. She loved this time of year, when things started getting colder. She loved winter most, but autumn was a close second.

She leaned against a nearby wall, glancing up at the half-moon, surrounded by a halo of stars and light. Smiling, Hermione ran her hands up and down her upper arms, rubbing away the cold. She couldn't stay out here too long; people would miss her (meaning _Draco_ would miss her), and it would soon be much too cold.

"You enjoy standing in the freezing cold?" a voice asked, and she turned to look in the direction it had come from. Harry Potter stood a few feet away, just outside the door, watching her with curiosity.

Or contempt. Or a combination of both. Anything was possible.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione smiled.

His eyes narrowed for a split second. "May one be so bold as to inquire _why?_"

"You may inquire, I may choose not to reply," she retorted with a smirk. "But in this case, I think I will favor you with a response. I like the cold," she said quietly. "It's... somehow soothing to me."

"It's _cold_," he frowned. "How is that soothing?"

Hermione felt several brick walls come up over her heart, walls she pulled up any time a conversation took a turn toward... certain subjects. She kept her expression composed, and simply said, "What's so soothing about warmth? You stand in the hot sun too long, you get sunburn, heat stroke, and you sweat like a pig. If you ask me, that's about as _un_-soothing as it gets."

"Cold leads to frostbite and hypothermia," he pointed out.

"I like the cold," she heard herself snap. "Deal with it."

He stared at her for a moment, before saying, "You're hiding something."

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she said. "We barely know each other, and my opinion of you is quite low, as I'm sure yours for me is. Why on earth would I tell you my personal business?"

Harry stiffened instantly, and gave a tense bow, for a moment looking for all the world like Mr. Darcy. "Forgive me," he muttered, then stalked off.

Hermione rolled her eyes. He was probably off sulking now because the "little bush-haired wench" didn't want to talk to him. Served him right. Rolling her eyes again, she went inside to find Draco.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, I know it's tacky to compliment your own work... but I love Draco and Hermione in this story! Seriously, I have so much fun writing their little banters! It's like the conversations I have with some of my friends! :D I hope you like reading it as much as I like writing it. Review, please!


	4. Surprise! I Love You

**Harry POV**

_Damn her! Damn that Hermione Granger, and her sparkling eyes, her mischievous smile, and her unfailing wit! Damn her for her ridiculous power over me!_

Harry paced fretfully about his bedroom, his thoughts running amok. He couldn't get the image of Hermione Granger, dressed in Regency period clothing, a few wisps of curly, brown hair fluttering around her face in the gentle breeze. She had looked exquisite tonight...

_Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!_

The sound of the door opening caused him to start. Sirius stood in the doorway, an infuriating smirk on his face. "I was going to ask when you got a pet elephant," he joked.

"Bugger off," Harry growled.

"Oh, come now, is that any way to talk to your old godfather?"

"When he's being a prat, _yes_."

"What's got you so miffed?" Sirius ignored this comment.

"Nothing."

He scoffed. "Right. And my real name is Mimbulus Mimbletonia."

"That didn't even _resemble_ clever."

"Why don't you just tell her you like her?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, glaring at Sirius. "I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about."

"Hermione Granger," he said matter-of-factly. "You fancy her, and it's driving you absolutely _mad_." He chuckled. "Don't worry, we've all been there."

"I do _not_ fancy her!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, sonny boy. Try to keep the stomping to a minimum now, please, I'm headed off to bed." He gave a wave, and one last smirk, before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry scowled, tempted to pick up the nearest object and throw it at the door. He refrained, just barely. Instead, he settled for picturing Sirius' face as he squeezed his neck. Of course, he would never actually do it—he did love his godfather, despite his increasingly frequent irritation with him—but the mental image was quite satisfying.

Once he'd calmed down, Harry considered Sirius' suggestion. Should he tell her how he felt? His immediate thought was, _hell no_, but then he considered the possible outcomes. One: she could slap him in the face and tell him to leave her alone. Two: she could laugh, and figuratively slap him with one of her biting quips. Three: she could just say he wasn't her type, let him down easy. And four: she could give him one of those sexy little smirks, flip her hair, and say, "I'll think about it," before seductively sauntering away.

With three out of four less-than-favorable possibilities, Harry didn't think it would be worth the risk. He'd just have to get over her.

**Hermione POV**

It rained the next day. And Hermione _loved_ it.

She decided to take the day off work, using up some of her paid vacation time (it wasn't like she used it anyway), and spent the day wandering around London. It was so beautiful in the rain, the reflection of the lights on the wet pavement sparkling, and giving the illusion that the city was glowing. And with the colorful autumn leaves and the chill in the air... it was glorious.

As the day gradually reached its close, she went to one of her favorite parks, just wandering around. She discarded the umbrella she'd been holding, deciding it was more fun to let herself get wet. She skipped through puddles, feeling like a little girl again. She came to a halt, however, when something blocked her path.

Or rather, some_one_.

Why was it always _him_?

"Oh," she mumbled when she saw the familiar, bespectacled face. "Sorry," she said, and turned around, prepared to skip away from him.

"Miss Granger!"

She stopped, surprised, and faced him again. What did he want now? "Yes?"

He seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Hermione lifted an eyebrow, and shifted her weight onto one leg, cocking her hip, and folding her arms. "Well?" she prompted impatiently.

Clearing his throat, he looked away. "You really shouldn't be out in this rain."

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't what he'd meant to say, but she wasn't in the mood to press the issue. "I like the rain," she insisted. "And I don't care what you, or anyone else, may think about me. I'm going to stay out here and enjoy the rain."

Again, he seemed utterly perplexed, and Hermione felt a smirk coming on. Before it could fully form, however, Harry had grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her—rather forcefully. Hermione struggled against him, eventually pushing him off.

"What the _hell_ was that?" she shouted.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I just..." He appeared to be struggling, then he rolled his eyes, "Oh, hell with it! I'm in love with you!"

Hermione gaped at him. "Come again?"

"I don't even know why!" he groaned, suddenly pacing. "I've tried to fight it, and everything I've learned in my life goes against it! But strangely... I can't stop it." He stopped, and faced her again. "I am absolutely out of my mind with love for you."

There were no words. Hermione stood, silent with shock, for several moments. Only when he said, "Please say something," did she speak.

"I'm sorry you've been struggling with this," she said levelly. "And I'm sorry if I've caused you pain."

He frowned. "That's it? That's... that's all you have to say?"

She was starting to get irritated. "What else would you have me say?" she snapped. "Did you think I would just fall into your arms, declaring my own, unyielding passion for you in return?"

"Well—"

"You can't have been that stupid!" she cut across him. "I can't account for everything I've said to you in the last few months—to be honest, I haven't really thought our conversations worth remembering—but I'm fairly certain I never _once_ gave any sort of indication that I had _any_ interest in you! And furthermore," she went on, when he opened his mouth to speak again, "do you _really_ expect me to fall for a guy who told me, in no uncertain terms, that he likes me _against his will?_"

"What did you expect?" he snarled. "Should I have flattered you, told you sweet little lies about how wonderful you are? Perhaps that's the romantic thing to do, Miss Granger, but I refuse to lie, no matter what the consequence may be. Did you think I'd be happy about this? Happy about loving a woman whose behavior resembles that of a child, and her status is so much lower than mine!"

An ominous crack of thunder echoed around them, and the rain increased. Hermione stared at him for a long time, then her hand flew across his face. The sound it made was nearly as loud as the thunder.

"How _dare_ you!" she hissed. "You want to talk about bad behavior? Let's talk about _yours!_ From the very first moment I met you, I read you like a book! You're a stupid, arrogant, conceited _prick_, with absolutely _no_ manners, and no idea what it means to be a gentleman! I had not known you an hour before I knew with absolute certainty that you were the last man in the world whom I could _ever_ love!"

"Enough," he muttered. "I understand you completely. You've left no doubt as to how you feel. I apologize for my boldness."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away. Hermione let out an exasperated growl, stomping around for a moment. That _horrible_ man! That horrible, inconsiderate, arrogant, idiotic _twat!_ She couldn't believe him! _How dare he!_ Furious, and suddenly unable to enjoy the rain, she stomped out of the park and went home.

* * *

><p>AN: One of the best parts of P&P! :D Sorry it's so short, but this really is the best place to end it. Please review!


	5. An Apology

**Harry POV**

Harry walked in a blind rage, not entirely sure where he was going, until he found himself at home. He wasn't sure if Sirius was here—he'd gone out for a bit to stretch his legs—but he wasn't in the mood to find out. Sprinting toward the staircase, he didn't notice the very person he was trying to avoid coming out of the sitting room.

"Ah, there you are, Harry!"

_Damn_. "Oh, hello, Sirius," he mumbled. "I, er... I'm headed to my room."

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," he muttered, before racing the rest of the way, and closing the door to his bedroom firmly behind him. He knew Sirius would give him hell for that later, but right now, he couldn't take it. It was still to fresh.

That woman!

That outrageous, infuriating, ridiculously tempting woman! She dared to refuse him? He was _Harry Potter!_ Son of two of the most respectable Aurors in the Ministry, when they were alive! Descendant of Godric Gryffindor, himself! And what was she? She was a _Muggleborn!_ He shouldn't even be stressing over this. She wasn't worth it.

"Harry?"

He started at the voice on the other side of his door. "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

Harry was tempted to say no, but even if he did, Sirius would probably come in anyway, so he opened his door. "What?" he snapped.

Sirius eyed him. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, there is. Something's eating at you. Is it that Granger girl?"

"Don't talk about her," Harry growled without thinking.

He sighed. "I thought so. What happened? Did you tell her how you feel?"

Harry paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should tell the truth. Then he remembered his own words to Hermione just a few minutes ago. He'd said he refused to lie, whatever the consequence. Damn it. Now he _had _to tell him, lest he be labeled a hypocrite.

"Yes," he said in response to his godfather's question. "I told her."

"And?"

"She slapped me, and called me an arrogant prick." Sirius laughed heartily, and Harry scowled at him. "You think this is _funny?_"

"I'm sorry, my boy," he wiped a tear. "I can just picture her saying that. Now, what did you say to make her think that?"

"Nothing!" Harry shouted. "I told her exactly how I felt! And she had the audacity to tell me I was 'the last man in the world she could ever love'!"

Sirius grimaced. "Ouch. Well, walk me through it. What precisely did you say, and what did _she_ say?"

Harry took a breath, and recounted the experience. When he was finished, Sirius watched him for a moment, then out of nowhere, his hand collided with the back of his head. "_Ow!_" Harry cried. "What the hell was that for?"

"You blockhead!" Sirius scolded him. "Insulting a girl repeatedly is not the way to win her heart!"

"I wasn't aware that I was insulting her," Harry said, and Sirius hit him again.

"Calling her a child? Going after her status? That sounds insulting to me!" He shook his head. "I _know_ your parents didn't teach you to judge a person because of their blood status, so when did you start doing so?"

Harry frowned. "But... but I thought that was..." He faltered, realizing he had no idea who or what had caused his disdain for Muggleborns in the first place.

"Do you realize your _mother_ was a Muggleborn?"

He stared at his godfather. "She _what?_"

"Your mother was born to Joseph and Margaret Evans, both Muggles. When she went to Hogwarts, she became more and more distant from them, until, by the time she married your father, they were no longer on speaking terms."

Harry sat down on his bed, slowly digesting this new information. His own mother, a Muggleborn. Oh, how could he have been so stupid? So blind? He'd always wondered why no one seemed to know anything about his maternal grandparents—he'd met his father's family numerous times, but never his mother's. And now he knew.

"Was she... ashamed?"

"Not at all," Sirius insisted. "They just didn't have anything to talk about anymore."

"I... I had no idea."

"Well, now you do," he said. "So... what are you going to do about it?"

Harry thought for a moment, then went over to his desk. "I'll write Hermione a letter," he said. "The spoken word has failed me more than once around her, so I'll stick with the written word."

Sirius chuckled and patted him on the back. "Good man. Be sure to apologize a lot."

As his godfather left his room, Harry pulled out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and began to write.

**Hermione POV**

It rained again. Hermione attempted, again, to skip about in the puddles and have her silly fun, but it was marred by the previous day's events. Harry's words echoed in her brain, tempting her further and further into the depths of fury. She splashed in the next puddle a little more forcefully than was necessary, effectively soaking the bottoms of her trousers. Not that she cared. That was why she was out here.

When the storm began to ease, she turned to head home, only to find her path once again blocked by the infamous Mr. Potter.

"Miss Granger," he nodded, then held up an envelope. "This is for you."

Hermione accepted the envelope, gazing curiously at it. She was tempted to chuck it back at him and stomp off, but he was already gone by the time she looked up. And besides, her curiosity prevailed. Tucking it safely in her pocket, she strolled back to her flat, locking the door behind her. After hanging up her coat and hat, she plopped onto the sofa, and pulled it out to read.

_To Miss Hermione Granger,_

_If you are actually reading this, rather than setting it on fire or ripping it to shreds, I thank you. I wouldn't blame you if you did. My behavior yesterday was abominable, to say the least. I was born into a life of privilege, and was led to believe that I was above everyone else. I never said this aloud, of course, but the thought was always there. And then I met you, and you made me question everything. With some recent discoveries, I've come to realize how incredibly wrong I was. A person's worth is not determined by blood status, or family connections, or anything like that. I should have known this from the beginning, but better late than never, I suppose. I hope you will accept my deepest and sincerest apologies for how I have treated you._

_My regards,_

_Harry Potter_

Hermione sighed as she set the letter down on the coffee table, burying her head in her hands. For perhaps the first time in her life, she didn't know what to do. True, he had behaved abominably, but that had to be the most sincere, heartfelt apology anyone had ever given her—aside from the time Draco accidentally singed off a section of her hair in Potions, and then gave her a bouquet of lilies and a piece of parchment with the hair-replenishing spell on it.

This prompted a thought: _Draco_. She hadn't told him any of this! And she called herself his best friend! Hermione pulled out her mobile phone and dialed his.

"Hello?"

"Draco, it's me," she said.

"Hey, you!" he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "What's up? You enjoying the rain?"

She bit her lip. "Well, I _was_... but then... something happened."

"What's wrong?"

"Erm... well... it's kind of a long story."

"I'll be right there."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Draco. See you in a minute."

Mere seconds after they'd hung up, her fireplace roared, and Draco appeared. He gave her a hug. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she insisted, pulling back to smile at him. "Just... overwhelmed."

"Is it work?"

"No, it's... well, let me start at the beginning." She gestured toward the couch, and they sat down. "Yesterday, I was out, enjoying the rain—" he smiled briefly, "—when I ran into Harry Potter." His grin faded into a puzzled frown. "He... well, it was rather odd... he told me I shouldn't be in the rain. I said that I liked the rain, and I didn't care what he thought, and I was going to play in the rain no matter what—"

Draco laughed. "You always were stubborn."

"—And then he kissed me," Hermione went on.

His grey eyes widened. "He _what?_"

"And he told me he loved me."

"He _WHAT?_"

"And then we took turns insulting each other. I called him arrogant and conceited, he called me inferior and childish. Then I slapped him, and told him he was the last man I would ever love, give or take a profanity." She paused, picking up the letter. "I ran into him again, today, just a little while ago, and he gave me this."

Draco took the letter, and silently read. When he was finished, he looked up at her with a stony expression. "_Wow_," he breathed.

"Pretty much my same reaction."

"This... I just... wow."

"Is there a bit of advice for me in between those wows?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Herm. He seems pretty sincere... but from what you told me, he was a real prat to you."

"That's an accurate description," she allowed. "But yes, he does seem sincere."

Draco sighed again, rubbing his hand across his face. "I suppose... you just wait and see what happens. Who knows? You might never see him again. He may end up falling for some other bird, and this all just becomes a story you laugh about in fifty years." He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded, gazing into the distance. "Who knows..."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry about the lame ending. I didn't know how else to do it. So, the whole thing about Harry being a descendant of Gryffindor. Is that true? I've heard it many times, but never checked to see if it's accurate. Well... for the sake of this story, let's pretend it is. If it's not, I'm sorry, but this story _is_ AU, so just about anything goes. Anyways... did you like it? Did you hate it? Do you even care? Please let me know!


	6. Shopping

**Hermione POV**

"Wow," Ginny breathed. "He really told you he loved you?" Hermione nodded once, and the redhead slumped in her seat. They were sitting in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate to celebrate the first snow of the season, which had fallen that day. The whole world was covered with a white blanket, while soft, white flurries continued to float to the ground. Hermione liked the snow; not as much as rain, but she did like snow. And she loved this little tradition she and Ginny had started in fifth year.

"And do you love him?" Ginny asked.

Hermione scoffed. "Definitely not. I mean, I don't despise him like I used to, but I still don't think I could love him."

Ginny shrugged. "You never know, he may surprise you one day."

"Well, when that happens, I will eat my own words, but until then, I reserve the right to keep my opinion."

"Fair enough," she nodded, raising her mug. Hermione lifted hers, and they clinked them together, before each taking a hearty swig. Thankfully, the temperature had reduced so that Hermione could do without scalding herself. The same didn't seem to be true for Ginny, who squeaked, and nearly dropped the mug, and in the process spilled a bit on the table. She groaned, rolling her eyes, and cleaning up the mess with a flick of her wand. "Just my bloody luck," Ginny growled.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Fine, I guess," she grumbled. "I'm just feeling a little... cast off at the moment." At Hermione's inquiring look, she explained, "The other night, at the last ball, I was with a man—I think his name was David—and I really thought we'd hit it off well, but after about an hour, he started trying to find any excuse to get away from me, and by the time the night was over, he was outright avoiding me. And not subtly, either."

Hermione sighed; this happened rather frequently. Once Ginny found a beau who she actually felt had some merit, she would latch on, and become a bit clingy. And this, of course, would scare the poor sod away. Hermione knew Ginny didn't mean to be a nuisance. She just wanted to feel loved, important, like she was the only girl in the world. And not many guys were capable of that. Hermione could only think of one who had ever sought to give that to any girlfriend of his, and that was Draco. But he was a rare specimen, and her best friend. So, inevitably, when Ginny tried to be the only girl, it didn't work.

"He was probably a jerk anyway," Hermione told her friend. "You're better off."

Ginny gave a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, Hermione."

Just then, they were interrupted by the back door opening. Both girls shivered at the sudden cold, then looked as the door closed, to see Ron enter the kitchen. His cheeks reddened as his eyes met Hermione's, and she felt a little disheartened. She really wished he wouldn't be so shy around her. She would love to be his friend.

"Hello, Ron," she greeted cordially.

And for the first time that she could remember, she saw a tiny curve of his lips—a barely noticeable smile. And he said, clearly, "Hello, Hermione."

She felt herself grin. "How are you today?"

"Other than being cold?" he quipped. "Not half bad."

"Glad to hear it," she chuckled.

His smile grew—if only just a bit—and he turned to Ginny. "Is there any more hot chocolate left, or did you two drink it all?"

Ginny had to take a moment to pick up her jaw off the floor, before responding, "It's on the top shelf."

Ron pulled the container of powder from the shelf, and quickly made himself a cup, and without another word to either of them, left the room.

"What the bloody hell...?" Ginny whispered.

Hermione, however, was smiling. She was happy that Ron had opened up to her. It wasn't much, but it was a step, and she could tell already that she and Ron would end up being close friends. Her mood had improved considerably.

"So, should we start talking about the Christmas ball?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ginny, that's not for almost two months!"

"_Hermione_," the redhead groaned, "this is the most important ball of the year! Every magical official from across the globe is going to be there!"

"I know, Ginny, I've been to three of them, remember?"

"Well, then you know how significant it is. Come on!" she grabbed her hand.

Hermione sighed. "Where are we going?"

"Shopping, of course!"

"I see you've gotten over your recent rejection quite well."

"Oh, yeah, I'm all better. Now come on!"

She sighed again, knowing it was best to just go with it. Besides, a little shopping never hurt anyone, did it?

* * *

><p>"What about this one?"<p>

"Too pink."

Ginny sighed, putting the silky coral gown back on the rack, and picking up the one next to it. "Or maybe this one?" she asked hopefully.

Hermione grimaced. "Too sparkly."

"Oh, now, come on!"

"Hello, ladies," a familiar voice drawled, and the two girls turned to see Draco stroll into the shop, He gave each of them a hug. "Shopping for ball gowns already?"

"Blame this one," Hermione jabbed her thumb backward over her shoulder, gesturing toward Ginny. "I was perfectly content sitting in her kitchen drinking hot chocolate, and she just dragged me here!"

He laughed. "Sounds about right."

"I'm right here, guys!"

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione feigned surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"Ha, ha," she deadpanned. "Now help me pick a dress!"

Hermione turned a pained expression to Draco, who just chuckled.

**Draco POV**

Half an hour later, the two of them were sitting on the chairs outside the dressing room, waiting for Ginny to come out. She'd finally picked a dress that all three of them agreed on—Draco had eventually decided to chime in—and now she was taking all day just to put the damn thing on.

"Ginny, come _on!_" Hermione yelled. "We've been sitting here forever!"

"You exaggerate," she pointed out from the other side of the door, "but okay. I'm coming out now."

The door opened, revealing the most stunning sight Draco had ever seen. She was wearing a long, black, halter-neck gown, with an extremely low back, and emerald lining at the bust and waist. He could tell Hermione wasn't fond of the back, and neither was he... in a way. Just looking at her now, he knew she would have boys all over her on Christmas Eve. She looked positively radiant... and almost...

"You look so _Slytherin_," Hermione voiced his thought.

Ginny scowled. "Fine thing to say to a Gryffindor, Hermione!"

"Oi!" Draco frowned, coming out of his stupor. "What's wrong with Slytherins?"

"Well, apart from you, they're a self-absorbed, manipulative lot, who care more about Ministry stock quotes than they do about the people they associate with on a daily basis."

Draco wanted to protest, but he knew she was right. Besides, she had said, "apart from you," so he was satisfied.

"So," she interrupted his thoughts, "this one's a winner?"

He nodded emphatically, while Hermione sighed. "Will you at least let me alter the back so it's not so... provocative?"

Ginny shook her head. "If I'm going to find a man, this is the way to go."

"I disagree."

"Me too," Draco blurted out.

"Oh, you too?"

He squirmed a little. "It attracts men, yes, but not the right kind of men. All that's going to do is draw the seedier guys, the ones just looking for a good time."

"Maybe that's what I want," she countered.

Draco felt himself growing warm. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Ginny tossed him a defiant glance, before disappearing back into the changing room.

**Hermione POV**

After Ginny had paid for her dress, she apparated home, leaving Hermione alone with Draco. They went to a nearby café, ordering coffees to go, and walking along the street in silence. Hermione pondered something that had been bothering her for a while; Draco's attempt at interference. He'd never shown much interest in Ginny's clothing choices before. In fact, it was a rare occasion for him to give an opinion on _any_ girl's attire. But suddenly, he was offering advice, and warning against certain kinds of men. Granted, Hermione was in complete agreement, but she would never have expected him to give such a speech. He was always so detached.

"Knut for your thoughts?" he prodded.

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes, and a sudden wave of enlightenment washed over her. "You like her, don't you?" she asked quietly.

He frowned, but she thought she could see a slight coloring in his cheeks. "Who?"

"Ginny, of course," she grinned. "You fancy her."

Draco gave an overly-dramatic scoff. "Yeah, right. Good one, Hermione."

"I'm being serious."

"I do _not_ fancy Ginny," he insisted. "That's just... just _no_."

She smirked. "Then why the sudden interest in what kinds of guys she hangs out with? Why the sudden interest in her clothing?"

His cheeks darkened. "I-I was just offering opinions," he stammered.

"You never have before."

"What, so a guy can't state his opinion without everyone assuming he likes a girl? I just... thought I'd do my part, as a friend, in helping her look her best."

She almost had him. "Yes, you did. And then, when she found a dress that—though I think it's a bit too revealing—was very flattering, you turned around and told her she shouldn't wear it."

"I did _not!_" he insisted, but he was beginning to look cornered. "I was just agreeing that you should alter it! That doesn't mean she shouldn't wear it!"

"To Ginny, that's basically the same thing."

He was losing steam. "B-but... I..."

"Give it up, Draco," her smirk grew. "You fancy her. Admit it."

At last, he heaved a sigh of defeat. "Yeah, I do."

Hermione grinned. "So tell her!"

"Are you kidding? She'd never be interested in me."

"How do you know?"

"She likes the rich, fancy, pretty boy type."

Hermione gave him a look. "Draco. _You_ are a rich, fancy, pretty boy."

"Oi!"

"You also happen to have an uncanny sense of chivalry and respect for women, and you don't squander away your money like it's going out of style. That puts you a notch above the rest." She smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "I bet if you actually said something to her, she would fall at your feet."

"You really think so?"

"Well, you'll never know if you don't try, will you?" she pointed out.

He bit his lip and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Hermione smiled, feeling satisfied with her mild efforts at matchmaking. Now that she thought about it, she could see Draco and Ginny being happy together. His calm demeanor would tame her wild, partying ways, and though Ginny was an incessant flirt, once she was with a boy, she saw no one else. And Draco wasn't the type to be disloyal. They would undoubtedly love and cherish one another forever.

"Hey," Draco said suddenly, "we never got _you_ a dress!"

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, Draco, I don't need a dress just yet. I can wait."

"Nonsense," he grinned. "We're out, we've got the time, so we might as well do it now. Besides, if you get it over with, you won't have to think about it later, and you can enjoy the month of December."

She sighed, knowing the battle was already lost. "Fine, but no Slytherin colors," she added with a wink.

Draco groaned. "What do you girls have against Slytherin?"

"I can't begin to imagine," she teased.

* * *

><p>AN: Another lame ending. I'm good at those. But hey, I got another chapter out, didn't I? Yay! :D Please leave a review! The ball is next!


	7. Merry Christmas?

**Harry POV**

Another Ministry ball. Joy to the bloody world.

Harry stood in the midst of hundreds of people from around the globe, all there to exchange the same lame pleasantries from last year, and get the same answers, for the most part. There were at least three young women he knew he'd have to dance with, at his godfather's request. Sirius was always trying to find him a girl, and the matchmaking schemes only increased at the Christmas ball, and he'd pick two or three girls for Harry to meet. Normally, this was a task he viewed only as mildly tedious. Tonight, he was dreading it like a child dreaded the return to school.

How pointless it all was! How hypocritical! If only he could leave, just run away from this hell, without anyone noticing. But he couldn't. He'd promised Sirius he'd stay at least for an hour, and dance with those three women, though he knew the chances of him finding even the smallest interest in any of them was below zero. Lately, the only woman who occupied his thoughts was—

_No! Stop thinking about her Harry! She's dangerous! She's not interested! She's—_

_She's right over there_.

Harry's breath caught as his eyes drank in the beautiful sight before him. There was Hermione Granger, at the top of the marble staircase leading into the ballroom, an absolute vision in a strapless red, floor-length gown. The skirt flowed and rippled with her every step, and the fitted bodice hugged her curves in an all-too pleasing manner. A small, silver headband crowned her head, holding back the thick, caramel colored tresses, which hung in loose, pretty waves down her back. She completed the ensemble with simple jewelry, and elbow-length, white silk gloves.

_Bloody hell_.

He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

Without thinking, he began making his way over to her, but stopped when he saw her take the arm of the man beside her. Harry didn't recognize him, but there was something rather familiar about the red hair and freckles. Ah, yes; he must be related to Hermione's friend, the Weasley girl. Violent jealousy erupted within him like a volcano, and he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to look away, though the sight was nearly unbearable.

At that moment, she turned, and her eyes locked on his. He thought he saw her cheeks turn faintly pink, but he dared not trust his own eyes. Surely they'd been conspiring with his heart, and had decided to play a cruel trick on him. Yet, he did not look away, but met her gaze shamelessly, and dared her to avert _her_ gaze. She didn't. At least, not until the red-haired man addressed her, and escorted her onto the dance floor.

A thousand thoughts and feelings raced through Harry's mind and soul. He couldn't read her expression, but it certainly hadn't been one of hatred, or of anger. That was a good sign... wasn't it? Did this mean she had forgiven him?

**Hermione POV**

"Oh, it's _beautiful!_" Ginny gushed as they entered the hall. Hermione smiled as she commenced in pointing out every little bauble and candle that lit the impressively decorated ballroom. She caught Ron's eye, and noticed he, too, was grinning a bit. In a moment of impulsiveness, she looped her arm around his. He jumped a little, but the smile remained.

"Who's that?" Ginny asked suddenly. Hermione turned to her friend, then followed her gaze to a man speaking with the Minister. His skin was the color of caramel, and his black hair was cropped short. There was something... almost sinister in the way he stood, smirked, and spoke (though she couldn't hear his voice, she guessed it was probably an arrogant drawl). Instantly, Hermione was disposed to dislike him.

"That's Blaise Zabini," Draco informed them, and she could hear the loathing in his voice. Well, at least she wasn't alone. "He's over the curse-breakers. He's been in Lithuania for the past year. A right piece of work, that one," he added, the venom in his voice increasing.

"He looks it," Hermione droned, meeting her friend's eye. He smiled at her, obviously appreciating her shared opinion. Unfortunately, Ginny's opinion was different.

"He's handsome," she murmured.

Draco's face fell, but he tried to hide it, muttering something about having to find his parents. Hermione sighed inwardly; she felt bad for him. It certainly couldn't be easy watching someone you care for flirt with other men, but how much more difficult if she were to make eyes at someone you hated! Poor Draco.

The back of Hermione's neck prickled as though someone was watching her, and she turned around to see Harry Potter staring at her. Her insides squirmed as our eyes connected; she hardly knew how to act. He didn't seem to be turning away any time soon, so she supposed _she_ should. And yet, she found herself quite unable to do so.

For a few moments—or it might have been several minutes—they stood, eyes locked, each unwavering in their gaze. His was searching, pleading, and she was certain hers was a blank, unintelligent-looking stare. How lovely.

Wait... why did she care? He already thought the worst of her... even if he did love her... she was so confused!

"Hermione?"

She started, and turned toward Ron, who had spoken. "Yes?"

"Would... you like to dance?"

Smiling, she nodded. "I'd be honored," she said, and he led her onto the floor. Ron wasn't as skilled of a dancer as Draco, so they settled for swaying slowly to the beat of the song. She smiled up at her companion.

"You look beautiful," he said suddenly, and his face turned red.

The sweet, simple satisfaction she'd felt before in knowing she'd broken past Ron's walls, was now replaced with a gnawing feeling of dread. Ron was shy; he didn't say things like that. And he blushed a lot more than usual when he was around her. Did he... fancy her?

"Thank you," she replied quickly, hoping he didn't notice her sudden change in demeanor. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he was just trying to be more brave.

"Mind if I cut in?" a voice asked.

They both turned, and Hermione felt herself scowling as her eyes met those of Blaise Zabini. He was even more sinister-looking up close, and she could feel the arrogance radiating from him. Yes, she'd been absolutely right about him.

"Er..." was Ron's response.

"You can wait until the next dance," Hermione snapped, attempting to lead Ron in the opposite direction. She didn't want to be anywhere near this man.

"Oh, come now," he chuckled, "it's not even a whole song. You can go back to your little _friend _in a minute or two."

Hermione hated the way he'd said "little friend." She hated _him_ already. But, sadly, she knew the rules of propriety required her to be polite. She turned apologetic eyes to Ron, who just shrugged, and sauntered off. Hermione turned to the handsome, conceited stranger, and allowed him to take her hand. However, she had to correct his other hand's position, when he tried to place it a little too low.

"My waist is _here_," she pointed out.

His eyes twinkled with mirth. "You don't like me," he said, cocking his head slightly to the left. "You don't know me, but you don't like me."

"Smarter than you look, eh?" she shot back.

Infuriatingly, he merely laughed. "Oh, I like 'em fiery!"

Hermione scowled. "Listen here, _Sparky_," she whispered menacingly. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but trust me when I say that you do _not_ want to get on my bad side. I've mastered every defensive spell in every book, and even some that you've never heard of. And I'm a member of the press, so I have the ability and the authority to dig up every last piece of dirt on you, and paste it on the _Prophet's_ front page." She leaned a little closer, dropping her voice further. "Cross me, and I will make your life a living hell."

The song ended then—_thank Merlin!_—and she stepped away from him as quickly as she could. But as she turned around, she nearly ran into someone else. "Sorry," she muttered, then looked up, and her jaw dropped. _Shit!_

Must it always be Harry Potter?

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice smooth, though his eyes were hard.

She should say no. She should tell him she couldn't, and hurry back to Ron, who may or may not be sulking in a corner. The thought made her sad. But then she remembered Harry's accusations and insults. If she just rejected him, point blank, it would be stooping to the level he'd mistakenly placed her at. And she thought about his letter. Could she really be so cold and uncivil, when he had made an honest and sincere effort to rectify his behavior?

_Damn_.

"Yes, you may," she replied tonelessly, and took his hand.

As he led her away from Zabini, she thought she saw him toss a scathing glance at the arrogant douche. Before she could question it, though, he'd pulled her into the traditional dancing position, and all her thoughts came to a halt. His hand, positioned carefully on the small of her back, seemed to burn her skin through the fabric of her dress, while the other caused a tingling sensation in her hand. One thumb managed to lightly graze the bare skin above the dress, leaving a trail of fire, and causing her to subtly arch her back. She gulped; what was this man _doing_ to her? She met his eyes questioningly, but found no expression to gauge. He just stared blankly back at her, as they waited for the next song.

At length, the music began to play, a soft, sweet number by Chopin, an he guided her into a waltz. His steps were precise, calculated, and for once, Hermione found herself actually being _led_ by a man, rather than steering him, or sharing the lead. The feminist in her told her she should despise the feeling, but... she actually felt... strangely exhilarated to know she was dancing with a capable male lead.

The dance became more elaborate, and he twirled her a few times, before adding some intricate steps. They spun and swayed together, in perfect harmony, until the music slowed, and quieted, drawing to a poignant end, with the two of them facing each other, holding hands above their heads.

Hermione felt as if time had stopped. In that moment, the only thing that existed for her was this strange, inscrutable man before her. His expression remained blank and unreadable, but she thought she could see something flicker in his eyes. Something akin to the spark she'd noticed in them when he kissed her.

And then, he spoke.

"You really should be more careful with whom you associate," he said.

It took her a moment to realize he meant Zabini. She couldn't stop the bubble of words escaping her throat. "I can't stand him," she muttered, then felt her cheeks grow warm. "But in any case," she attempted to save herself, "what's it to you who I spend my time with?"

His eyes tightened, and instead of replying, he just gave a little nod of the head, and stalked away. Hermione watched him, all the more confused. Did he really love her? Was she being unfair to him? And why did she bloody _care?_ Since when did she feel pained by the possibility that she'd hurt his feelings? And when did she start getting butterflies in his presence, and reacting in such a way to his touch?

Simply put, _what the hell?_

* * *

><p>The next morning—Christmas—was spent at the Burrow. Hermione smiled her best for the Weasleys and Draco, thanking them all sufficiently for their gifts. Ginny's was a type of makeup (she wasn't trying to say anything, she just didn't know what else to get her), Draco's, a first edition Faulkner (!), and Mrs. Weasley gave her the usual Weasley sweater. This year's was an emerald green, with a gold "H" on the front.<p>

Ron's gift was the most surprising. He'd bought a small gold locket, nothing fancy, with her initials engraved on it.

After dinner, Hermione excused herself, wishing a Merry Christmas to them all. Then she disapparated, going to the place she only went once a year: London cemetery.

With a wreath of white roses in her hand, Hermione passed the many ornate graves and tombs, housing the deceased people of England. There were only two names she recognized, only two she cared to see. Even so, as she neared them, she slowed, approaching the graves with trepidation. As her eyes rested on the names, her heart gave a little clench of pain, as it always did. They were barely visible beneath the snow; she brushed the icy water away. As she did, it began to rain, and the water washed away the little bits of debris and dirt that had accumulated since her last visit.

_John and Elizabeth Granger_

_Loving Parents and Friends_

_Died Jan. 1__st__, 1999_

"Hey, Mum and Dad," she whispered hoarsely, resting the wreath on their grave. "I wish you were here.

A tear escaped Hermione's eyes as she looked down at all that remained of her parents. She always missed them, but... for some reason, she felt it more keenly at this moment than she had since they died.

"What happened?"

She gasped and whirled around, only mildly surprised that it was Harry Potter who had spoken. He stood a few feet away, leaning against one of the taller tombstones.

Swallowing thickly, she faced the grave again. "Car accident," she said. "I was at Draco's. He'd invited me to his parents' annual New Year's celebration, and I went there, instead of my own family's party. They were on their way home, and a drunk driver slammed into them, head on. Killed them instantly."

He was quiet for a moment, then she heard the crunching of the snow beneath his feet as he moved toward her. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Hermione faced him, surprised at the honesty in his voice. He was surprising her a lot lately. "Thank you," she replied.

After a brief silence, he spoke again. "My parents were on an assignment over the holidays, five years ago," he told her. "I'd arranged to come home, instead of staying at school, like I usually did. They didn't tell me about it until I got home, right before they were supposed to leave. I threw a royal fit," he chuckled mirthlessly. "I told them they were horrible parents, and other horrid things befitting a scorned, seventeen year old boy. They told me to grow up, and then they left." He paused. "They died on Christmas day," he added. "Since then... Christmas just hasn't felt the same."

Hermione was shocked to find tears trickling down her face at his story. How close his story was to her own! Without thinking, she put a sympathetic hand on his arm. He started, facing her with obvious astonishment, and then an emotion that would be foreign to her... except, she was pretty sure she was feeling it, too. What it was, she couldn't say. Only that she had an inexplicable longing to comfort him, and to be comforted by him.

As if he'd read the tenor of her thoughts, he began moving closer. But as he did, she felt a spasm of fear. Would he kiss her again? Did she _want_ him to kiss her again? If he did, would she kiss him back? How did she feel about him? Drops of rain mingled with her tears, and she could feel them increasing, but she couldn't seem to look away. He was getting closer...

Just when she thought she could count every single eyelash framing those striking, emerald eyes, her cell phone rang. They both jumped apart, and she eagerly began rummaging through her purse for the object in question. When she found it, she frowned at the name on the caller id, but answered.

"Draco? What is it?"

"It's Ginny," he said, his voice shaky. "She's missing."

* * *

><p>AN: *_gasp*_ Dun, dun, DUUUUUHNNNNN! What's happened to Ginny? Find out, next chapter! Please leave a review! Loves!


	8. Fire

A/N: Warning, this next chapter gets really intense...

_Last Chapter:_

"_Draco? What is it?"_

"_It's Ginny," he said, his voice shaky. "She's missing."_

* * *

><p><strong>Ginny POV<strong>

Ginny's vision swam; what happened? The last thing she remembered was taking her gifts up to her bedroom. Then something hit her head, and everything went black. It didn't make any sense...

"Ah, you're awake," a voice drawled. She blinked several times, and a figure stepped into her line of sight. She recognized him instantly as Blaise Zabini, the handsome stranger from last night's ball. But what was he doing in the Burrow?

Oh, wait...

"You'll notice you're no longer at home," he pointed out. "I'm not going to tell you where you are, though. It's just as well you don't know."

Ginny frowned. "Why am I here?"

His lips twisted into a smirk that made Ginny's skin crawl. Whatever it was, she had a feeling it wasn't good. "You'll see soon enough," he said. "But in the meantime," he added, stepping slowly toward her, "I have some... plans for you."

Something glistened by his belt, and Ginny looked to see a long, shimmering knife stuffed into one of the loops on his trousers. But before she could scream, his hand flew across her face, and she fell unconscious again.

**Hermione POV**

Hermione's breath came in short, erratic bursts as she raced up to the door to the Burrow. What she found inside was troubling, if not surprising. Draco and Ron were both pacing back and forth; Fred and George, Ginny's twin older brothers, tried (and failed) to lighten the mood with various jokes and pranks; Mrs. Weasley was draped over the couch, sobbing; and Mr. Weasley sat quietly in his chair, his face pale.

Ron was the first person to see Hermione, and he immediately walked over to her, almost running into Draco in the process. Draco, frustrated at his path being cut off, watched Ron with a venomous expression, until he, too, spotted Hermione, and then he repeated the redhead's actions. They both stopped, however, upon seeing that she was not alone.

After Draco's phone call, Hermione had become somewhat of a basket case, so Harry had insisted on using sidelong apparition to get her there. He nodded cordially to the other two gentlemen, who merely stared. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Hey," she said nervously, hugging both her friends. "Any news?"

"We found this," Ron produced an envelope. "It's addressed to you."

Hermione glanced at him, then Draco, before lowering her eyes to the envelope. Her name was scrawled in black ink across the back. With shaking hands, she took it from Ron, and opened it, reading anxiously.

_To Miss Hermione Granger,_

_I would suggest you reconsider your resolve, which you so kindly favored me with last night. Meet me at the Hog's Head at midnight. And if you ever want to see your lovely friend again, you'll come alone._

_-BZ_

It didn't take long for her to deduce that "BZ" was Blaise Zabini. She knew he was bad news, but this... this was beyond anything she could have imagined. Tears of anger and hatred streamed down her face. "Zabini," she muttered.

Draco took the letter, and as he read, his face went so pale, Hermione was sure he'd died and become a ghost. "No," he whispered, his breathing shallow. "No, no, no," he repeated over and over, as if the words would make this nightmare go away.

It didn't work, of course.

"Zabini has her?" Ron seethed. Hermione nodded mutely, handing him the letter. He read, and then his face went pale, though not as pale as Draco's. Harry snatched it from the unresponsive Weasley. His only reaction was an expression of confusion.

"That bastard," Hermione snarled, shaking with her fury. Harry turned to her, his eyes concerned. "_I'll kill him_."

"What does he want with you?" he asked her warily.

She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. "Last night, he... made some unwanted advances, both physically and verbally. And I threatened him. I told him I'd make his life a living hell." Her eyes opened, a renewed fury in them. "And I intend to keep my promise," she added.

Harry started after her, grabbing her arm. "It's dangerous. You don't know what he could do to you, what he may already have done to _her_."

"I don't give a flying f—"

"Hermione, please," he interrupted, using her first name. This caught her attention, and she looked up into his eyes. "At least let me go with you."

She gulped. "He said to come alone."

The tiniest of smirks graced his lips. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

* * *

><p>This was absolute <em>madness<em>.

Here she was, Hermione Granger, a highly intelligent witch, walking along the deserted streets of Hogsmeade village, late at night, toward a very dangerous situation, involving a man who had sent her a threatening letter, and was doing God knows what to one of her best friends. And Harry Potter, the man who allegedly loved her, even though he thought she was beneath him (sort of), was walking beside her. The best (or scariest) part? _She couldn't see him_.

No one could.

After attempting to calm down Draco and the Weasleys, Harry assured them that he would return with Hermione and Ginny, both of them safe and unharmed. He hoped. Then, they apparated to his mansion (_Holy Merlin_, Hermione thought), where Harry retrieved a surprising object in his possession: an Invisibility cloak.

And now, they were walking in Hogsmeade, silently. Hermione blessed the rain that had come earlier, and washed the snow from the streets, or someone—should any person choose to come out so late—might wonder where the extra set of footprints beside hers were coming from.

Hermione spotted the Hog's Head down the way; it was dark, obviously closed. "He must be in cahoots with the owner," she mused bitterly.

"I certainly wouldn't be surprised," the unseen Harry said, his voice equally laced with animosity. "The few times I've come in contact with him, he's always seemed to be drunk, or intent on becoming so. And besides that, the Hog's Head is known for its... er, waitresses."

"Prostitutes?" she guessed. He remained silent, which she took as her answer.

They didn't speak the rest of the walk. At length, they reached the empty pub, and she placed a shaky hand on the doorknob. It opened easily, not even creaking at the movement. Hermione tripped over the doorjamb as she walked in, feeling the first shred of fear since reading that letter. Once inside, she stopped, glancing around. It was nearly pitch black; the only light came from beneath a door across the pub, a soft, muted glow. She gulped. Zabini must be keeping her in there. She paused, unsure of what she might see.

Hermione felt a slight pressure on the small of her back, and a voice whispered just above her left ear, "Don't worry, I'm here." A shiver trickled its way down her spine, but it wasn't one of fear, or even anxiety. In fact, those words and that voice were oddly comforting. Her trepidation eased, and her previous determination took its place, pushing her forward.

Behind the door was a staircase, spiraling downward, the light becoming brighter nearer the end. Harry's hand came to her back again, though he didn't speak this time. She nodded once, and, with baited breath, began her descent.

What she found at the bottom was shocking, to say the least. The room, lit by a dozen or so lanterns, was practically empty. It was completely made of stone, with no windows, and the only furniture in sight was a sort of alter... upon which a very familiar redhead lay.

"Ginny!" she breathed, and made to run across the room and help her friend.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a disembodied voice echoed in the room. She stopped, just in time to see several metal spikes collapse from the ceiling, one of which missed her by just a few inches. Hermione jumped back, gasping. Ginny lay motionless on the alter.

"You better not have killed her, you sick bastard," she seethed.

A quiet chuckle. "I find it rather interesting how most people think I'm a ruthless, cold-hearted killer. As it happens, I'm not one for pointless murder. I just know how to... use certain threats to my advantage."

Hermione's eyes darted around the room, looking for any sight of the dark-skinned dickhead. But she couldn't see him anywhere. And Ginny looked so pale...

"What advantage?" she asked warily.

"Getting you here, of course," he replied, his voice coming from behind her. She whirled around, and sure enough, there he was. The smirk on his face made her stomach churn with utter hatred, and she glared menacingly.

"Well, I'm here," she spat. "Now let her go."

He inhaled sharply, making a face. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that just yet."

"_Let her_ _go_," she repeated fiercely.

"I will, believe me," he sneered. "But first, I need you to do something for me." Her glare intensified, but she held back the many retorts—most of which included some rather ugly profanity—that immediately came to mind. He took that as his clue to continue. "See, a few years ago, a prophecy was made concerning my family. It said, more or less, that my family line would end with me. Now," he went on, "I admit, I have no interest in marriage. However, the name Zabini was not meant to be so easily extinguished. So... I need an heir."

Hermione had a bad feeling about this. "So what's that got to do with me?"

"The Zabini family has had all sons for the last four hundred years," he said simply, sauntering to the other side of the room. "The secret? All the men have married women with a certain amount of..." he turned around and smirked at her, "..._fire_ within them."

"Are you seriously telling me," she began quietly, "that you want to impregnate me with the heir to your family's fortune?"

"It's you, or her," he said, pointing to Ginny's prostrate form. "She doesn't quite have the stamina to guarantee a son, but the chances are still quite high. You, on the other hand..." He paused, giving her a predatory smile as he slowly closed the distance between them.

Hermione felt physically sick. "You are a vile, despicable, loathsome, piece of shit! I wouldn't come near you with a fifty-foot pole!"

He gave a shrug. "Then I guess it's _her_."

With a crack, he apparated over to Ginny, and lifted her off the alter. "It's a pity you didn't consider my offer," he shouted. "I'm sure you're fantastic in the sack."

"YOU—"

But before Hermione could get out a single insult, the perimeter of the room burst into flames. "I'm not one for useless killing," Zabini called, "but I can't have you going about besmirching my family's name, can I?" He winked. "Nice knowing you!"

And with that, he disapparated. Harry reappeared suddenly by her side, the cloak in a ball beneath his arm. "That sick, twisted arse!" he snarled.

The reality came crashing down on Hermione like a ton of bricks. Zabini was going to rape Ginny, and get her pregnant. Then, once she'd delivered the heir to his fortune, he'd likely leave her penniless in the streets. And she and Harry were trapped inside this tiny stone room.

"Oh, my God..." she muttered, clutching her head in her hands. "What have I done?"

**Harry POV**

The situation was grim, at best. They were trapped, and the fire was steadily closing in on them. Eventually, it would reach them, and they would burn to death. And that... that... God, he couldn't even think of a strong enough word to insult him! He didn't deserve to live! Harry racked his brains for something—anything—that would get them out of this. And then, it hit him: any fire, produced by magic, became an instant Floo portal. The portal lasted at least until someone in the Ministry caught it, and close the portal from the network. And this was definitely magical fire.

"We might just make it," he finished his thought aloud.

Hermione turned to him, her confusion evident. "Make what?"

Harry reached into the pocket of his coat. He always carried a small pouch of Floo Powder with him, just in case. Sirius told him he was just paranoid... now he had proof that he wasn't. As he emptied the contents into his hand, Hermione's eyes widened. "Let's hope this works," he said, before tossing the powder into the flames.

Instantly, they turned a bright green. Harry allowed himself a brief grin, before he shouted, "_Zabini Manor!_" The flames grew brighter and larger. Harry took Hermione's hand, and they stepped into the fire.

A moment later, they emerged from an ornate fireplace, into a sinister-looking study within what he assumed was Zabini's home. It sure _looked_ like him. His hand still clasping Hermione's, he moved toward the door, and they began to search the house for any sign of him, or Ginny. Finally, they heard a loud thud, followed by a piercing shriek, coming from a room just down the hall from where they were. They shared a look, then sprinted down the corridor into the room in question.

The sight before them caused a red tinge to blur Harry's vision.

Zabini lay, sprawled across his bed, with an obviously irate and non-compliant Ginny Weasley beneath him. He was holding her legs apart with his own, and his clothing was disheveled—but still in place. They weren't too late.

Before Zabini had a chance to react, Harry raised his wand at him. "_Stupefy!_" He flew to the opposite end of the room, his head hitting a bookshelf and causing the contents to spill over the floor, before collapsing himself.

Ginny shot up from the bed, and Harry glanced away; she was clad in nothing but her undergarments. While the two women shared a tearful reunion, he crossed over to where Zabini lay unconscious. "_Ennervate_," he muttered, and the wizard at his feet slowly came to. As soon as Harry knew he was awake enough to register pain, he punched him across the jaw. He groaned loudly, his hand clutching his jaw. Harry knelt down and grabbed him by the collar.

"You worthless sack of shit," he whispered, and Zabini turned wide, frightened eyes to his. "If I hear you've so much as breathed on either of these two women, or any of their friends or family, I promise you, I will hunt you down and torture you within an inch of your life. And even when you're on your knees, begging for death, I won't give you the satisfaction." He paused. "Is that understood?"

Zabini nodded mutely. Harry was tempted to punch him again, just for being a spineless little snake, but decided to settle for Marking him. As such a prominent member of wizarding society, and also as the son of two former Aurors, he'd learned the Marking curse, which was used to detect dark wizards and other criminals. He performed the spell without speaking, and therefore, Zabini didn't notice. He almost wished he could be there to see the little weasel's face when the Aurors showed up to arrest him.

_Almost_.

But he had more important things on his mind, namely, the two women still hugging and sobbing, whom he had promised to deliver home safely.

* * *

><p>AN: No idea where that came from. Seriously. Ugh. That's sick. I must have a really weird brain. Wait... there was never any doubt about that one. But still. A little more dramatic than was my intent, but I think I'll keep it. It adds a nice edge to the story, and really makes Harry more of a hero. And if you think about it, in P&P, when Lydia goes off with Mr. Wickham, that would be roughly equivalent to this in their time period. So... yeah. Anyways, please leave a review!


	9. Something There

A/N: Here's another chappie for ya! :D

* * *

><p><strong>Hermione POV<strong>

The Burrow looked the same as always. Hermione smiled, a weak, shaky smile, full of relief, but also the lingering fear and hatred from the events of a few moments ago. She was reminded of Harry, who had brought them here, and turned around to thank him... but was greeted by a crack, as he disapparated.

"Home," Ginny breathed.

Hermione shook her head, trying to quash the growing feeling of sadness. They were safe. She should be happy. Wearing that same smile, she and Ginny walked into the house. The moment the door shut, a distraught-looking Draco came into the small foyer, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"Oh, thank God!" he sighed, before rushing forward and enveloping them both in a tight hug. Hermione shared the embrace for a moment, then let the two of them have a moment. Just then, Ron came in, and heave a sigh before he gave her a hug. Hermione was surprised, but returned the embrace.

"Thank Merlin you're both safe," he whispered.

"Thank Harry, actually," she said, pulling away. "It was all his doing."

Ron nodded. "Well, where is he?"

Hermione felt herself frown. "He... disapparated when we got here."

"What, he doesn't want to be thanked?"

"I suppose not..."

"Well," Ron said, seeming unfazed, "perhaps I'll send him a letter."

Hermione didn't respond, but let him hug her again, and then accepted hugs from the rest of the Weasleys. After a few minutes of tearful reunion, Hermione excused herself, and apparated to her flat. Once there, she leaned against the door, and slid down to the floor, burying her face in her arms. She cried for several minutes; cried for Ginny, for the Weasleys, for herself... for Harry. Then, when she was certain she had cried herself dry, she curled up in bed and fell into a restless slumber.

* * *

><p>New Year's Day came and went. Two weeks after the horrors of Christmas, everyone had gone back to work and school. Hermione returned to her usual, dry, monotonous schedule, which, admittedly, she loved, but something was different this time. She didn't love it as much, didn't take the same pleasure from the dull, dreary days as she used to. And she knew exactly why.<p>

For the past two weeks, Hermione hadn't been able to get a certain green-eyed man out of her head. Why had he been so quick to leave? She couldn't fathom why he wouldn't want to see the Weasleys. He had said, and proven, that blood status and wealth meant nothing to him. Then why didn't he stay?

After a long day of work, she decided to go to the Burrow. She could certainly use the company, and she wanted to check up on Ginny. When she arrived, she heard voices coming from the kitchen, which she soon recognized as Draco and Ginny. She hid herself just outside the door, listening.

"I appreciate you checking in, Draco," Ginny said, "but it's not necessary. As you can see, I'm fine. Really," she added firmly. "You don't need to worry."

"I know I don't _need_ to," he replied, "but I can't help it."

She laughed quietly. "You and Hermione, a couple of overprotective worrywarts."

"Ginny."

"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent—"

"I love you."

Hermione inhaled sharply, then covered her mouth, hoping they hadn't heard her. It didn't seem they had. After a moment, Ginny spoke again.

"W-what?"

"I love you," he repeated. "I don't know exactly when it started, but it's the absolute truth. And I can't stand by and pretend I don't feel the way I do. I'm driven mad with jealousy every time another man so much as looks at you. And on Christmas, when that... that _bastard_ took you away... I was certain I would die. I was prepared to take my own life, if he had taken yours." Hermione gasped again. "Because I realized I can't live without you, Ginny. I love you too much to let you go."

A few beats of silence... then, "Oh, Draco. I love you, too. Always have."

Hermione smiled, and chose this opportunity to leave. She exited the house, being careful not to alert them to her presence, then apparated home. The smile lingered for a moment, then dissolved into a blank expression. She was happy for them; they both got what they wanted. They were perfect for each other. But for the first time in her life, Hermione felt completely alone.

It wasn't like her to feel this way. Even after her parents had died, Draco and Ginny were there to comfort her, to assure her that everything would be okay. She knew they would still be there for her, but it wasn't the same. She hated to admit this, even to herself, but... she wanted a partner. Someone to love her, cherish her, and hold her at night. Someone to constantly remind her how beautiful she was (though she wasn't always convinced of this), and to wipe away her tears.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it to find Ron, standing with the strangest expression on his face. "Ron!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise. Is everything okay?"

"I was going to ask you that, actually," he said. "I saw you leaving the Burrow."

She felt herself blush, and smiled. "Well, I came to see Ginny, but left when I saw that she already had company."

"Draco," he nodded. "Yeah, I saw them in the kitchen, snogging the living daylights out of each other." Hermione giggled, and he smiled. "I saw that one coming."

"They'll be good together," she pointed out.

He just nodded absently. "So, you're okay then?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Ron bit his lip. "Well, sometimes I thought... it seemed like you and Draco—"

"Draco and I have never been, and never will be anything more than friends," she spoke her oft-repeated words. "Yes, we're unnaturally close, but there has never been anything but platonic feelings on either side."

"Okay," he said, and she noticed that he sounded relieved.

"Why do you ask?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I like you, Hermione. I've liked you for a long time." His cheeks turned bright red as he continued. "I've... always been too afraid to say anything to you, but I decided I should at least try."

Hermione sighed sadly. "Oh, Ron, I'm unbelievably flattered, but... I don't like you in that way. You're a fantastic guy, and I'm certain you'll make some lucky girl very happy someday. But I don't think that girl is me."

Ron nodded, his eyes downcast. "It's _him_, isn't it?" he mumbled.

She frowned. "Who?"

He looked her in the eye. "That Harry Potter. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"N..." she began to deny it, but her voice stopped. She couldn't form the words. And as she thought, she realized that her feelings for the brooding, emerald-eyed man had changed dramatically since she met him. But love? Did she _love_ him? "I-I don't know," she answered both her question and Ron's. "I don't know if I love him... but I do think I feel _something_."

Ron gave another nod. "I figured. It's okay, though. He seems an okay guy."

Hermione smiled her thanks, hugging him tightly. "You're a good friend, Ron," she told him. "Thank you."

After a moment, he pulled away, and she was alone again. But this time, she didn't feel it. Not as much, at least. And she had some confusing feelings to work out, and for this reason, she was grateful for the solitude.

She prepared herself a cup of coffee, then sat down in her favorite chair—an old, battered rocker that used to be her mother's—and thought as she rocked back and forth. She thought about the past few months in which she'd known Harry Potter, and pondered over how her feelings had changed. Within minutes of meeting him, she'd come to despise him, thinking him arrogant, thoughtless, and insufferable. But after his spontaneous confession of love, and the subsequent letter of apology, she'd been forced to stop and reconsider her judgment of him. For a long time, she'd been utterly perplexed, unable to form a solid opinion.

Then, she remembered the ball on Christmas Eve. The fire that burned beneath her skin at his touch; the passion in their dance; the heated gaze they'd shared. And she remembered how she'd felt in the graveyard, the following night. That overwhelming desire to comfort him, as he recounted the tale of his parents' death. The longing to kiss him, to be held by him.

Holy Merlin... she _was_ in love with him.

When the hell did _that_ happen?

**Harry POV**

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_As the Minister for Magic, I would like to thank you for your assistance in the arrest of one Blaise Zabini. As I'm sure you're aware—who isn't?—he's done things like this in the past, but has always managed to avoid the Aurors. He is sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban, with the possibility of parole._

_Now, as your friend, I'd like to thank you, again. This stays between us, but you're not the only one who thinks Zabini is a worthless sack of shite. And now he's locked up, no longer a threat. I'm sure your parents would be very proud of you._

_Regards,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Harry smiled briefly at the letter from Kingsley. He was relieved that Zabini would be in Azkaban—though he, himself, thought the sentence should be for life, _no_ parole.

"Are you ever going to leave this room?"

He turned in surprise to the door, where Sirius stood. Harry bristled. "Yes, I am," he said. "In fact, I leave it quite often."

"Using the loo doesn't count," Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's a basic human need. I mean, are you going to leave it _voluntarily_ any time soon?"

"What's it to you?" he snapped.

"I'm your godfather, boy," the older man retorted. "I think that demands a tiny bit of respect." Harry bowed his head, appropriately ashamed. "Now, listen here. I know you're angry over that Zabini character. I'm sure you're not the only one who was dying to have either his head or his manhood chopped off." Harry grimaced at the unpleasant mental image. "But it's done now. He's in Azkaban. Move on."

"It's not that," he blurted.

"Then what?" Harry remained silent, but of course, Sirius saw through him. "Oh, it's Hermione again, isn't it? Have you tried to contact her at all?"

"No," he sighed. "I hardly know what to say."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Good God, man, if you weren't my godson, I'd beat the living tar out of you for being so pathetic." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius lifted a hand to silence him. "Just ask her how she is, make sure she's all right."

Harry straightened. "You think she's not all right?"

"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered, slapping his palm to his forehead. "Just _ask_ her!"

**Hermione POV**

"Oi, Granger!"

She turned to see her boss, Jacob Henderson, sprinting toward her. "I was just on my way out," she said, hoping he would let her go.

He grinned. "I made a promise. You're promoted to reporter."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Really?" she squeaked.

"I'll give you your first assignment at the staff meeting on Tuesday." He held out a hand for her to shake. She accepted, and shook his hand vigorously.

"Thank you so much, sir! I won't let you down!"

"Oh, I know you won't. You're a hard worker, Granger. I have complete faith in you."

With that, Jacob turned and went back to his office. Hermione gave a quiet squeal of delight, and returned home in high spirits. She would have to call Draco and Ginny, to share the news with them!

**Draco POV**

"You'd better go," Ginny whispered against his lips. The two of them were situated comfortably on the couch in the Burrow, wrapped in one another's arms. "My parents will be home soon."

He smirked. "They already know about us. Why hide it?"

"Just because they know doesn't mean my father's going to be okay seeing you with your mangy paws all over his baby girl."

"Oi!" he exclaimed, feigning offense. "I am not _mangy!_"

She giggled. "But you know I'm right."

Draco sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'll call you later tonight, okay?"

They shared another kiss, before both rose from the couch, walking toward the front door. Draco turned to his beautiful girlfriend, intent on stealing _another_ kiss, when there was a knock at the door.

Ginny frowned. "Now, who could that be?" she wondered aloud, opening the door.

It was Harry Potter.

"Oh!" she said, obviously surprised. "Erm... hello, there, Ha—er, Mr. Potter."

He smiled briefly. "Please, call me Harry."

"Okay," she said, turning to Draco, her eyes wide with shock.

"What can we do for you?" he asked.

Harry bit his lip for a moment. "I was just... wondering if you," he looked at Ginny, "and Her—uh, Miss Granger were okay."

Ginny smiled. "Thank you for your concern. We're both fine."

He seemed unsatisfied. "Well... good."

Draco fought a smirk as he stepped forward. "If you'd like," he said, "I can give you Hermione's address, and you can check up on her yourself."

The other man's eyes lit up. "Yes, thank you."

Allowing the smirk to creep across his face, Draco produced a scrap of paper, and wrote down the address. He handed it to Harry, who thanked him, and disapparated without another word. Draco and Ginny shared a look.

"What. The. Hell," she mumbled.

Draco chuckled. "I'm having a Disney moment right now."

She frowned. "A Disney moment?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. I'll call you later," he added, bending down to steal a quick kiss from her, before he made his way down the front steps. As he left, he smiled, singing quietly, "_Perhaps there's something there that wasn't there before..._"

* * *

><p>AN: BAHAHA! I couldn't resist the Disney line! :D I know Draco probably wouldn't know what Disney was in the actual books, but in my mind, for this story, he and Hermione probably watched a lot of Muggle movies together, Disney ones included. So there. :) Hope you liked this chapter! We're near the finish line! One, maybe two chapters left! Please leave a review!


	10. Kiss in the Rain

A/N: This is the last chapter, everyone! Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Harry POV<strong>

As Harry walked up to the apartment building where Hermione lived, a light rain sprinkled the top of his head. Why was it _always_ raining whenever he wanted to talk to Hermione? He rushed to get into the building, and with a small bit of persuasion—and magic—what, he could break the rules once in a while, couldn't he?—he made it up to the third floor, stopping in front of flat 318.

He knocked... no answer.

He knocked again... still, no answer.

Beginning to despair, he knocked a third time, louder, but resisted the urge to call out her name. When he was greeted once more with silence, he sighed, and turned around to leave.

By the time he got outside, it was pouring. He was soaked within minutes. Shaking his head in dismay, he pulled the collar of his coat up, and started down the street.

He stopped, however, when he spotted a figure, clad in a light blue coat, dancing in the rain. His breath caught; was it her? It had to be her. No one else he knew would go out in this horrible weather. Heart pounding, Harry altered his course, making a beeline for the dancing girl.

Once he was within a few feet, he was absolutely certain it was Hermione. Even wet, her chestnut hair was unmistakable, as was her smile. Warmth pulsed through him as he watched her, twirling and skipping through the puddles, without a care in the world. It was a very different sight from how she'd been when he saw her last. And he welcomed the change, happy to see her in such good spirits.

"You're happy," he commented, announcing his presence.

She stopped, barely managing to keep er balance as she faced him. Her smile faded, and he wondered what he'd done. But she didn't look angry, simply stunned. She was quiet for a moment, before she cleared her throat, and looked at her feet.

"Er, yeah," she mumbled.

Harry slowly walked toward her. "What's the occasion?"

She looked up at me. "Well... I got a promotion at work. I'm officially a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ now."

"Congratulations," he smiled.

"Thanks." Her eyes wandered for a few moments, before landing on him again. "So... what brings you here?"

He swallowed thickly. "I, um... just wanted to make sure you were okay. You know, after what happened on Christmas."

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"So I see," he smiled. "Well... good, then."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that... _all_ you came to say?" she asked. "I mean... there's nothing else?"

Oh, _yes_. There was so much he wished to say, but he didn't dare. So he shook his head, keeping an impassive expression. She was quiet, looking at her feet again.

"I, er..." she began, "I want to thank you for what you did. You know, for Ginny and myself. It was... well... thanks."

"It was nothing."

At this, she lifted her eyes to his. "No," she said quietly, taking a step forward. They were barely a foot apart now, and she was forced to look up to meet his gaze. "No, it wasn't nothing," she went on. "It was... more than I would have done in your shoes. After the way I've... well, I haven't exactly been kind to you..."

"Hermione, stop," he interrupted her, and she did. "You were completely justified in your treatment of me."

"No, I wasn't," she insisted, and Harry sensed a tangent coming on. She didn't disappoint. "It was stupid and prideful, and I was being exactly what you'd thought me to be at the time. And then you wrote me that letter, and I should have at least acknowledged it after I read it, but I was just so confused, and I didn't know what to believe! And then, all of a sudden, at the cemetery, I'm baring my soul to you, and I wanted to console you, and yesterday, I found out I'm in love with you and—"

"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted.

She looked up at him, confused for a moment, but then her eyes became wide as saucers as she realized what she said. "Oh..." she mumbled.

He leaned closer, his eyes searching. "Say it again." She tried to move away, but he grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place. Gently, he placed a hand beneath her chin, turning her face toward his. Emerald met chocolate, and the world seemed to be holding its breath with him. "Say it again," he repeated, almost pleading. "Or did I imagine it?"

For a moment, she seemed torn, a battle waging between her mind and heart, but eventually, she whispered, "I love you."

Harry was speechless. Never, even in his wildest dreams, would he have believed he would hear her say those words to him. Even now, he wasn't sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if she was _really_ saying it.

"I love you," she said again, "and I'm sorry for how I've treated you. I'll understand if you don't want anything to do with me anymore."

Where the _hell_ did she get an idea like _that?_

"Anyway," she turned to leave, "I'll just... go now."

_Oh, no you don't!_

Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him. She inhaled sharply as he bent towards her. "I'm not letting you get away that easy, Miss Granger," he said in a husky whisper, then he impulsively pressed his lips to hers.

**Hermione POV**

It wasn't Hermione's first kiss—it wasn't even her first kiss with _him_—but it was a first in so many ways. She had never once felt like she was missing something, like she was simply one half of a whole. Now, however, she felt as if that missing puzzle piece had slid into place. She was complete.

When the kiss ended, Harry's forehead rested against hers. "I love you, Hermione Granger," he murmured. "And I'm sure that I _will_ love you for a very long time."

She smiled. "Really?"

"If you'll let me," he said.

"It's a demand at this point," she teased, and they shared another kiss. They barely noticed the rain begin to ease, and the sun breaking through.

* * *

><p><em>One year later...<em>

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter!"

Cheers and loud whistling erupted in the small church in Godric's Hollow. Harry and Hermione made their way back up the aisle, toward the doors. As they exited the church, they were pelted with rice and flower petals.

Later that night, they stood in a line, with Sirius and the Weasleys, greeting friends and family at their reception. The ballroom at the Potter Mansion was decorated with an understated elegance that suited both the bride and groom perfectly. Even Ginny, who had become Mrs. Malfoy a few months prior, had to admit that their wedding had upstaged her own.

After the reception, the newlyweds changed into more sensible attire, and gathered their belongings, ready to go on their honeymoon.

"We should make one stop before we go," Harry said.

Hermione frowned. "Where?"

He merely smiled, took her hand, and they disapparated. A moment later, they were in a very familiar cemetery. Hermione's stomach clenched, and she looked up at her husband, question in her eyes. He smiled again, and led the way. As they walked, a light rain began to fall, just a few drops here and there. Hermione felt comforted by the welcome precipitation, as usual, and she itched to go run and dance, taking Harry with her. But he obviously had something to show her first, so she refrained.

Finally, they stopped, and she followed his gaze the tombstone. Her heart throbbed with bittersweet enlightenment as she read:

_James and Lily Potter_

_Died Dec. 25, 1996_

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back, smiling at her, then at the tombstone. "I just thought you should meet them," he said. "Even though we lived in Derbyshire, they spent a lot of time in London, so I had them buried here."

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder, crying a few sympathetic tears. After a few minutes, the rain started to increase, and she smiled, remembering her earlier thought. She lifted her head, pulling on his hand. "Come with me," she said.

She led him into the street, just outside the cemetery. The wet pavement sparkled in the moonlight, giving the place a magical feel—even though they were in a Muggle neighborhood. Hermione released Harry's hand, taking a moment to marvel at the beauty of this place. Then she turned to him again, offering her hand. He took it, and she began to sway. "I usually dance alone in the rain," she said, "but now I want to share it with you."

Harry smiled, and twirled her under his arm. They danced and laughed for a long time, and the subtle rain turned into a downpour. The couple was soaked within just a few minutes, but they didn't care. They were happy and in love.

When they started getting tired, they stood in each other's arms. Harry brushed a stray lock of wet hair from Hermione's forehead, and leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him back with all the fervor and adoration she possessed, hoping to convey just how deliriously happy she was.

And from then on, their favorite kind of kiss was a kiss in the rain.

* * *

><p>AN: Yay for a sappy ending! That last line is for nomadicsoul5, who issued this wonderful challenge. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Loves! 3


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